


Nothing More, Nothing Less

by scouringsandstone



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Biphobia, Bisexuality, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scouringsandstone/pseuds/scouringsandstone
Summary: A look at Bodie and Doyle's relationship throughout the years...





	1. 1976

It's a sweltering summer day, a few months after the two of them have been paired up, when Bodie first begins to have his suspicions. 

He and Doyle are sitting in the Triumph, staking out a bookmakers off the High Street. They're waiting for a man called Roberts to make an appearance, but he doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry...

"It's no good," Bodie says at length, shifting in his seat. "I'm gonna have to go and get a drink."

He has already removed his jacket, but even the thin stuff of his shirt is too much for this weather. Sweat is trickling down his back, making the fabric stick to him, clammy and uncomfortable. 

"You're not going anywhere, mate," says Doyle. He doesn't look up, just keeps his eyes trained on the betting shop. 

"C'mon, Doyle. I'm gasping here."

"Didn't you bring a flask?"

"Didn't have time. You know what Cowley's like once he gets a tip. Hey, look, it's only there." Bodie indicates a newsagents nearby. "I'll be two minutes, tops."

"Listen. The minute you set foot in that place, you can guarantee Roberts'll come strolling round that corner, and I'm not taking that mad bastard in on my own."

"So I'll take the R/T."

Doyle mulls the idea over for a moment. "Fine," he says, "But Cowley won't like it."

"That's all right," Bodie says. "I wasn't planning on telling him." 

He climbs out of the car, letting the door fall shut behind him. 

"Bodie!" Doyle calls through the open window.

"What?"

"Get me a can of Coke while you're in there, will you?"

Bodie lets out an exasperated sigh and heads for the shop. 

That just about sums up his experience of Ray Doyle so far. 

Bodie wouldn't go as far as to call the man perverse, but he certainly seems to take pleasure in being irritating. 

If Bodie didn't know better, he'd say there was something more to it. The insults, the teasing, the bickering... 

But no.

Bodie has seen the way Doyle looks at women. The way he smiles at them. The way his eyes track the curves of their legs across the corridors at work. It's those little tells, reflexive and involuntary, that give a man away. 

His interest is genuine enough, and Bodie has no reason beyond wishful thinking to suspect that Doyle might be interested in men too.

When he returns to the car a few minutes later, Doyle's shirt is strewn across the back seat, and Bodie does his best not to notice the way Doyle looks in his white tee-shirt. He settles back into the passenger seat, opens one of the cans and passes it to Doyle, watching as Doyle takes a long, slow swig. 

"Still no sign?" asks Bodie, transfixed by the way his partner's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. It makes his own mouth feel drier. 

"Do you think I'd still be sitting here if there was?"

"No. S'pose not."

A pause, and then: "Christ, I'm starting to think Pike was lying."

Their informant - usually a reliable source. 

"Why would he do that? He wouldn't want to get into our bad books."

"I dunno. Maybe he's more scared of Roberts than he is of us."

"He bloody well won't be if it turns out he _was_ lying," says Bodie, but he can't believe that's the case. He shakes his head, dismissing the idea. "Nah, he'll come through."

"Well then let's hope Roberts turns up before we both die of heat stroke."

Outside, the midday sun beats down. The smell of warm tarmac creeps in through the windows and heat rises off the tops of the cars in front of them in waves, giving everything a strange, surreal quality.

A man crosses over to their side of the road, wearing just a worn pair of Levi's and some pumps. He's spattered with plaster and paint - a decorator, in all likelihood, or else doing up his own place - and Bodie can't help but appreciate the view.

He risks a quick glance across at Doyle, hoping he hasn't been caught staring, only to find that Doyle too is watching the man.

Doyle's eyes follow him, alert, interested. 

It takes Bodie a few seconds to process the situation. He thinks he recognises desire in Doyle's gaze, a different type of thirst. 

"Hey," Bodie begins softly and Doyle jumps slightly, startled.

"What?"

Bodie opens his mouth to say something more, but at that moment, he catches sight of Roberts emerging from one of the side roads.

" _Shit._ Look lively, here he comes." Bodie is back to business in an instant.

Doyle empties the remainder of his pop out of the window, throws the empty can into the footwell, and with that, the pair of them are up and out of the car, doors swinging shut behind them simultaneously as they sprint off up the street, conversation temporarily forgotten. 

 


	2. 1977

"Blonde or red-head?"

"Where," says Doyle, watching Bodie carefully in the mirror, "Do you find them?"

"Eh?"

"These birds. Where do you find them all?"

Bodie stops buttoning his shirt, a smug smile spreading across his face. "They find me."

"They certainly seem to..."

"Animal magnetism," Bodie says, with a quirk of his eyebrows.

"Oh, is that what it is?"

"So they tell me."

"Well, at least we can all agree that you're an animal."

"Charming." Bodie doesn't mind, not really. Insults seem to be Doyle's own unique way of expressing affection. "All right, come on then, which is it? Blonde or red-head?"

Doyle moves the electric shaver over the contours of his chin, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you keep inviting me along?"

Bodie's heart skips a beat, but he keeps his smile fixed in place. "Thought you'd enjoy it. Nice restaurant, good food, beautiful women... Of course, if beautiful women don't interest you..."

"I didn't say that," Doyle interrupts.

"Great!" says Bodie, clapping a hand across Doyle's back. "In that case, I'll pick you up at your place around seven."

Doyle looks back over his shoulder at the point where Bodie's hand is pressed to his skin, and Bodie thinks this might be it: the moment when Doyle finally tells him to stop. Bodie has always been tactile, but the way he behaves around Doyle is overstepping the mark. Most men would have knocked his teeth out by now.

All Doyle says is: "You haven't answered my question. What do you want me tagging along for, when you could have both of them to yourself?"

His stare is unwavering. He is watching Bodie, waiting for a reaction, ready to decipher it, catalogue it, and file it away with all the other intel he's gathered. At times, Bodie can see why The Met snapped him up. Perhaps Doyle has sussed him out months ago and all this is a game. If it is, then they are each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Bodie clears his throat. "Ah. Well, that's just the sort of guy I am: generous to a fault.”

"Is that right?" Doyle says dryly.

"Yeah. Besides, the sheer _amount_ of beautiful women throwing themselves at me... Well, there aren't enough hours in the day."

"All right, all right," says Doyle, growing irritated with Bodie's act. "If you're that desperate, I'll come. Here, pass us that, will you?"

Doyle motions towards a bottle of Brut sitting on the row of sinks in front of them.

There is only limited space between the sinks and the benches of the old locker room, so Bodie seizes the opportunity.

He wouldn't risk it if Doyle were using a razorblade.

He places a hand on either side of Doyle's hips and presses in unnecessarily closely as he passes.

"Bodie..." Doyle says, a warning note in his voice.

Bodie freezes. The thrill of being found out, of finally being challenged about it, is so intense that he can feel himself hardening in his trousers.

He forces himself to meet Doyle's eyes in the mirror.

"Is that how you get your kicks?" asks Doyle, "Or are you waiting for a written invitation?"

Bodie stares for a moment too long and Doyle laughs at the stupid expression on his face.

"Wasn't sure..."

"No, I know you weren't." Doyle reaches back, pulling Bodie harder against him, and Bodie chokes out a moan.

"Ray-"

"Trust me," says Doyle, “You'd've known about it if I'd wanted you to stop.”


	3. 1978

It's almost midnight.

The room is dark but for the light trickling in from the street outside through a gap in the curtains, and Bodie can feel himself drifting off, soothed by the sound of Doyle breathing beside him.

He's only too aware that the outcome of the afternoon's events could have been very different. If Doyle hadn't been right about there being a few good coppers, neither of them would still be around to think about it, but here they are, and Bodie can't get the idea out of his mind. At least they would have gone together. The thought of never having Doyle beside him again fills him with an icy dread that creeps its way into the pit of his stomach and settles there.

He tries to focus on the ebb and flow of Doyle's breathing, the rhythm of his heart. He concentrates on the heat radiating from the man next to him, safe and solid where his back rests against Bodie's shoulder.

Bodie is almost asleep when the mattress dips beneath him. The duvet shifts and his shoulder is exposed to the cold night air.

"You awake?" Doyle's voice cuts through the darkness.

"Well, I am now," says Bodie.

"Sorry."

"S'all right. Can't you sleep?"

Doyle rolls over to face him; Bodie can just make out his outline against the wall. "No. Was thinking about earlier..."

"What about it?"

"I dunno," says Doyle. "It's been a funny old day, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Bodie agrees, waiting to see where Doyle is going with this conversation.

"Bodie?"

"What?"

"When did you know?"

"When did I know what?"

"That you were... y'know..." Doyle trails off, but Bodie knows the slight tremor in his voice, understands what it means.

"When I was fourteen," Bodie tells him, his own voice barely above a whisper. "Went to see _The Magnificent Seven_ at the pictures and I couldn't decide if I fancied Steve McQueen or if I wanted to be him."

There is a strange breathy sound as Doyle laughs at the concept. "Well, that'd do it, I suppose," he says.

"Certainly did it for me," says Bodie.

"Did you ever tell anyone?"

"Give over. I wasn't that stupid, even at fourteen."

"What, no one?"

"Well, I told you in the end, didn't I?" says Bodie.

"You didn't, actually," Doyle deadpans. "I had to work it out for myself."

"Hey, you should've been a detective, you know."

Doyle swats his arm and rolls over onto his back. "You're right. I should."

"Told a few other fellas, y'know, back on the ships, in the army," Bodie continues. "You work it out, don't you? Who you can tell, who you can't..."

Doyle gives a noncommittal grunt. "Sometimes."

"Then when I joined this mob, I thought... Well, I packed it in. Stuck to birds. You never know what Cowley'd make of it. Wouldn't want to get caught in that sort of pub by one of our lot."

"No," Doyle says pensively, "Neither would I. And it's that easy for you, is it?"

"Yeah, why not? I'm one of the lucky ones, mate. I don't mind either way. Never have done. Anyway, what about you? When did you know?"

After a long pause, Doyle says, "Not sure I ever did... Always thought- if you liked women- I assumed I'd settle down one day, get married, have kids."

"Semi-detached suburban Mr. James?"

Doyle snorts. "Something like that."

"That what you want?"

"I dunno," says Doyle. "It's just what you do, isn't it?"

"Doesn't have to be."

"No, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah," says Bodie and the worst part is that he does. He knows exactly what Doyle means.   

"Didn't you used to think that, when you were young?" asks Doyle.

"Tell you the truth, I never gave much thought to the future when I was young."

"Mm, I can believe that."

"Never banked on making it much past thirty."

"Well you can bank on it now, mate. You can bank on making it to retirement now you've got me to watch your back." Doyle sounds angry.

"All right," Bodie concedes, "If that's your plan, I'd better start paying into my pension."

"I mean it," Doyle says, only he doesn't sound angry anymore, he sounds resolved.  "You and me, watching each other's backs."

"Fine." Bodie rolls over onto his side. "I'll make sure I live to a ripe old age."

"Better had do."

Doyle moves in behind him, wraps an arm around his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, Bodie thinks he might have a reason to try.  


End file.
